


Baby, We're a Cliche

by Sandalaris



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, But don't worry Erica's got this, M/M, Socially Awkward Derek, Sterek Week 2017, Stiles has nice arms, it's a thing, meet cute, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 02:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12521308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandalaris/pseuds/Sandalaris
Summary: The first time Derek is set to meet someone at a bar, and really he blames Erica for the entire mess of thingsthankyouverymuch, it goes exactly as well as he expects.





	Baby, We're a Cliche

The first time Derek is set to meet someone at a bar, and really he blames Erica for the entire mess of things _thankyouverymuch_ , it goes exactly as well as he expects. 

 

It's not that Derek doesn't date, of course he dates he's a –physically– healthy young adult with a –mostly– intact libido. (Kate's a bitch. And no, he doesn't want to talk about it.) He just doesn't date much. Or often. Or with the same person twice in a row. (Unless he likes them, but that's a whole different issue.) 

 

But Erica, bless her bossy, nosy, abrasive soul, seems to think he has "issues," and that the best way to get past said issues is to "get back out there" and "make an emotional connection" and "actually try and do more than grunt at people." (That's all well and easy for her to say. She's been practically engaged to the same guy since high school and hasn't had to deal with the whole dating scene pretty much ever. He doesn't say that to her face, he likes living.) 

 

But her pushing led to an argument and an argument led to Boyd getting involved and now he's meeting someone at a bar during hours he could be using to catch up on his Netflix queue. It's not pathetic if he's happy. Fine, happy-ish... Well, he's not _un_ happy. 

 

"What can I get for you?" The words have to be shouted by the bartender over the pulsing beat of some lyric-less, and he's pretty sure instrument-less, music. There's flashing laser-lights and glowing bits of paint on the club goers and some sort of perfumed fog being sprayed out every few minutes, and all of it is combining to give Derek the beginnings of a massive headache. And really, what did he expect from a place called _The Banshee_? He does not know how Erica could do this to him. Scratch that, he doesn't know how Boyd could be so cruel as to let Erica do this to him. He thought they had an understanding, if an albeit wordless one. 

 

He squints at the bartender, trying to make out his features in the flashing lights. He looks like a puppy, is the first impression Derek gets, staring at the dopily grinning _kid_ trying to take his drink order. And Jesus, is this guy even old enough to drink? How can he be serving alcohol? 

 

"Just a beer," he replies. 

 

If anything, the kid's face _falls_ , like Derek had asked him to put kittens in a blender and serve them to him with a side of homeless children. For a second Derek thinks he must have misheard him, that kid behind the counter was asking for his phone number or to donate to charity or something. 

 

"Oh, um, the thing is, we're kind of out-" 

 

"Never fear! Beer is here!" 

 

The bartender whips around so fast Derek almost worries for him. 

 

Coming around the back of the bar is a set of boxes piled high, baggy jeans sticking out from under and set of truly very pale arms wrapped around the tittering pile. Or maybe the strobe lights making them appear so washed out. 

 

"Oh, thank god." 

 

The strobe lights die and a weird red glow takes its place, effectively getting rid of the surreal feeling to the night while simultaneously casting everything into a B-horror movie territory. It's not an improvement. 

 

Derek blinks at the pile of boxes, stacked at least six high and each with a different beer's label across the side. They successfully obscure everything but the, rather well shaped, forearms and long fingered hands of the person carrying them and Derek is sure the whole thing is going to come crashing down at any moment to create a smelly, beer filled mess on the floor. 

 

"What kind did you want?" the bartender asks, turning back to Derek. "The choices are a little limited, but I can offer it to you at half-price!" 

 

"Hey!" The voice behind the beer cases squawks. "Stop offering discounts! We gotta make this last until tomorrow, bro!" 

 

"But I already-" 

 

"This is not how you do business, Scott!" The guy, and subsequently the boxes, all tilt sidewise for a just a moment before he manages to right himself. "Little help here, dude!" 

 

The newly named Scott turns from Derek with an apologetic smile and heads over to help out his fellow co-worker, and if Derek shifts slightly in his seat to try and catch a glimpse of the owner of hands that look like that, then no one has to be the wiser. 

 

"Forgive him," the box-guy yells over his shoulder as Scott helps him settle the boxes on the floor, "he's supposed to be the face man, not the beer man." 

 

"And what's your job?" Derek finds himself yelling back before he can think better at it. "Company mule?" 

 

"I'm clearly the bouncer," box-guy deadpans without missing a beat. 

 

Derek's grinning despite himself, leaning forward until the counter of the bar digs into his stomach when someone touches his arm. 

 

"Are you Derek?" 

 

He turns to look over his shoulder, seeing a guy with dark blonde hair and thick rimmed glasses and Derek remembers suddenly that he's supposed to be meeting his date. 

 

"Uh, yeah," he replies, standing up straight and sticking out his hand. "Kevin?" 

 

"That's me." The guy gives him a toothy grin. Derek tries to grin back. He fails. Kevin will just have to settle for his less-murderous glare (thanks, Erica, for pointing that out. Hasn't made him self-conscious at all.) 

 

Kevin gives him an uncomfortable look and Derek's already hating this date. 

 

There're a soft clunk by his elbow. 

 

"That'll be two-dollars," Scott chirps, actually god-damn chirps, at him. This guy is way too sunshine and rainbows for a bartender, but Derek pulls out his card and hands it over. He catches a flash of pale skin and dark hair out of the corner of his eye, but the box-guy is already kneeling behind the counter and half-buried in +the fridge. 

 

"You know," he says slowly, "you could have just given me whatever's on tap." 

 

Scott gives him horrified puppy-dog eyes. 

 

"You don't want that. That's the bad beer. Nobody wants the bad beer." 

 

Box-guy is right, Scott does not know how to run a business. 

 

\- 

 

He sleeps with Kevin. He doesn't call after. Erica can keep her opinions about that to herself, thanks. 

 

Boyd's look of disappointment is harder to avoid. (He has a surprising number of disproving expressions that Derek finds hard to ignore. He blames Erica, she clearly has been a bad influence on him.) 

 

He's away from his apartment for three nights before he deems it safe to return. And really, he never should have given either of them a key. 

 

\- 

 

Date number two is at the same club. And really, he hated it the first time, why are they sending him back? 

 

Date number two is with a teacher. Her name is Jennifer. She hates the bar as much as he does. Point in her favor. 

 

"Did you want to maybe get dinner instead?" she calls over the pulsing music. There's a flashing bit of blue light on her face that makes her look like a corpse, but otherwise Derek thinks she's probably really pretty. All shiny hair and big eyes. 

 

"Yes." He's probably too brusque, knows he comes off a bit angry, but Jennifer smiles at him that shy little smile and he doesn't think he's screwing up too badly. 

 

"Let me just settle my bill," he yells to her. 

 

It's a set of twins Derek can't tell apart that have been serving him watered down beer from the tap all night, and Derek absolutely refuses to admit that Scott was right. Nobody wants the bad beer. He ordered it anyway on principle – it's not stubbornness, no matter what his friends say. 

 

A receipt is set in front of him before he has a chance to signal one of them, pen laying across it. He barely glances at the total before he signs. 

 

"Jesus Christ, guys. Why didn't anyone tell me we were out of cherry vodka?! Do you know how popular this is on ladies' night? Do you!?" 

 

He knows that voice, head already turning to catch sight of a broad back scolding one of the twins. Sharp lines lead to a slim waist and ruffled dark hair are all he can make out in the dim lighting. Wildly swinging arms catch Derek's attention a moment later, eyes tracking the flicking fingers and twitching wrists. Slim, but strong biceps flex distractingly before a smaller, slimmer hand lands on his arm. 

 

"You ready?" 

 

"Just a sec." He doesn't know why he said that, but he turns back to box-guy still berating the bartender. He almost strains his neck trying to catch a better glimpse at the guy's face. 

 

"Your beer on tap's shit." He doesn't know why he said that either, but box-guy half turns to look towards him. And because the universe hates him, there's a sudden change in music and the entire club goes dark besides a series of green and purple pinpoint lasers making crazy patters and the glow under the inner edge of the bar. 

 

"Then why'd your dumbass get three cups?" 

 

"I'm a masochist," he deadpans. He tries to add in annoyance he doesn't feel. Isn't sure it comes across. 

 

"That sounds like a personal problem." He doesn't know how he knows, but box-guy is smirking at him and he feels his own lips twitch upward in response. 

 

"Derek?" For a second he'd forgotten Jennifer was even there. 

 

"We can go," he says suddenly. And there's that annoyance, a sentence too late and Derek winces but follows her out. 

 

\- 

 

He likes Jennifer. He doesn't sleep with her. 

 

They have a brunch two days later and he finds out she has a thing for bruises. (Isaac showed up at 3am needing a place to stay and Derek isn't the most coordinated upon waking. He also possibly needs new friends) He goes back to her place that afternoon and he tells her he's not looking for a relationship. 

 

The sex is good. He leaves immediately after. 

 

"You have issues," Erica says. Isaac looks like he agrees. Derek decides they are both on his shit list. 

 

He shrugs. "I know." 

 

\- 

 

His third date doesn't even make it into the bar. He meets her in the parking lot, opens his mouth to suggest going somewhere else, "where we can actually talk," when she suddenly apologizes, pulls an honest to god semi-automatic form her purse (how did she even fit that it in there?) and sprints towards the dark alley behind the building. 

 

"Jesus, who invited her? And should I be calling the cops?" 

 

Derek feels heat infuse his cheeks and because it's a well-established fact that the universe hates him and will fuck him over whenever it gets the opportunity, his (former, definitely former) date has disappeared from sight and behind him is the beer bringing box guy whose arms have featured heavily in Derek's recent fantasies. And he just so happens to be standing under the glow of a street-light (who was the idiot who decided the parking lot of a night club needed a street light?) where his awkwardness will be on full display the moment he turns around. 

 

"In my defense, she was a blind date set up by a friend," he responds as he turns. 

 

The club's open door cast a dark outline, highlighting the edge of a sharp jawline and a distinctive bit of spikey hair. 

 

"Dude, what did you do to you frie-" 

 

There's the sound of shattering glass, barely discernable over the techno-hell that passes as music, followed by shouting and possibly a thud. 

 

"Fuck me," box-guy hisses, turning back to the club's entrance before looking back at Derek. "Don't go anywhere." He spins on his heel, shouting inside at what sounds like a fight, "I'm not afraid to sic Lydia on your asses if you two don't take it off club property!" 

 

Derek runs as soon as the door is shut, face burning in shame and with a determination never to come back again. He doesn't care what Erica says, dying alone is better than this. 

 

\- 

 

"I'm done with dating," he declares bright and early the next morning. Or rather early afternoon, he needed time to rehearse. 

 

Erica, who for reasons Derek stopped guessing at, doesn't even look up from where she's chuckling at her phone screen. 

 

"That's fair," she says. 

 

"I mean it, no more- wait, what?" He blinks at her in confusion before turning to look at an amused Boyd. 

 

"You can take a break. You've earned it." She pats his hand, giving him a smile before turning back to her phone and cackling. "Oh, there's pictures!" She turns her phone to show Boyd. Derek uses the distraction to make a haste retreat. 

 

\- 

 

Despite her promise, Derek finds himself at The Banshee a few nights later. For once he's not there ona d ate, but rather because Erica threatened, begged, and finally bribed him. 

 

_"If you go tonight and stay until midnight, I'll deactivate your dating profile for the next month."_

_"I have a dating profile?"_

_"Not the point, Derek. Go to_ The Banshee _tonight."_

 

It's a different bartender yet again. A girl with straight black hair and a leather jacket over a plaid dress who's no taller than his shoulder but seems to leap around the bar like some kind of fox. She'd made him three whiskeys on the rocks without him asking and refused to give him a beer. 

 

"Trust me, this is better." 

 

She wasn't wrong. 

 

"Close my tab," he calls to her as she all but runs past him. 

 

"What? Oh, yeah. Um, give me a sec." And then the bartender is off, practically sprinting towards where the register is. 

 

She sets the receipt in front of him, pen at the ready and he squints down at it. 

 

"Excuse me," he calls, "this can't be right." The price on the receipt is maybe a third of what his drinks should have cost. 

 

"Bad Date special, dude." 

 

He looks up quickly, sees that oh so familiar dark head of spikey hair and pale skin on features he can finally see and, oh god there are moles. Moles Derek kind of wants to lick and possibly bite at. And then box-guy leans against the bar and flexes his arms, all corded with a wiry strength and making Derek's kinda dirty thoughts plummet into full on Gutterland. 

 

Box-guy gives him a half-smile that's all friendly mischief and Derek's heart sort of flips before going all warm and gooey. He is so fucked. 

 

"Oh, uh." 

 

Erica is probably somewhere right now cackling over his supreme wit while money is exchanging hands between herself and Isaac. Scratch that, Isaac is laughing too. No one is stupid enough to bet for him. 

 

"I'm not on a date," he blurts. 

 

Box-guy raises his brows, smile softening at the edges before he bites his bottom lip and Derek is pretty sure he's having stroke. 

 

"Well, three bad dates in a row certainly earned you the Stilinski Discount." 

 

"Stilinski?" 

 

"Stiles Stilinski," box-guys says, holding out his hand. "Reigning king of Bad Dates." 

 

"Derek Hale," he responds automatically, shaking Stiles' hand. 

 

He's leaning against the bar to be heard, face close enough that he can see the long curve of Stiles' lashes and the teasing mirth in his eyes. And Derek is struck by the fact that he's had three conversations with this guy and it's still been the most fun he's had on any of his dates. Even the semi-successful one with the teacher. 

 

"Do you want to get a drink sometime?" He doesn't know where the words come from. OK, that's a lie, he wants to go out with box-guy, with _Stiles_ , but if the last few weeks (hell, try his entire life) have taught him anything, it's that Derek is better off not dating. "Or maybe coffee?" Fuck it, it's not like he's ever coming back here again. 

 

Stiles' eyes go comically wide, his mouth dropping open like a fish. It's not an attractive look on him, all gobsmacked and surprised, and Derek is absolutely smitten. 

 

"Me?" Stiles glances behind him like maybe there's someone else Derek meant to be awkwardly asking out and Derek has a moment of absolute panic. Then he registers the wide, open grin spreading across Stiles' face. "Uh, yeah!" Stiles says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Now? Did you mean now? 'Cause I can get someone to cover for me-" 

 

"Tomorrow's fine," Derek cuts in, going for nonchalant and ending up somewhere in the neighborhood of eager toddler. 

 

"Great! Oh," long fingers snap as Stiles points at him, "I need your number, dude." 

 

He entirely blames Erica. He'll have to thank her later.

**Author's Note:**

> There is possibly a second chapter in the words featuring the actual date, more of Derek's issues (thanks, Kate) and Erica hoarding all the credit for Derek meeting Stiles. But it's still mostly just a vague idea in my head.


End file.
